


green green dress

by threefundamentaltruths



Series: bridgerton missing scenes [2]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Birds and Bees Fails: Featherington Edition, Bridgertons Being Bridgertons, Bridgertons putting Portia in her place, Canon Compliant, Colin is a delightful and protective fiancé, Dresses, F/M, Lingerie, Missing Scene, Violet Bridgerton is the best MIL, Visits to the Modiste, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28682973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threefundamentaltruths/pseuds/threefundamentaltruths
Summary: “Your son has very strong opinions on his fiancée’s wardrobe,” Madame Delacroix says mildly to Lady Bridgerton, with the faintest twitch to her lips, when Mama finally excuses herself to use the chamber pot after hours of Lady Bridgerton invoking Colin’s name every time she shoots down one of Mama’s poorer ideas.Wherein Penelope and the mothers prepare for her upcoming wedding.
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Series: bridgerton missing scenes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112294
Comments: 34
Kudos: 505





	green green dress

**Author's Note:**

> Two stories today!
> 
> Title from “Green Green Dress” :) by Jonathan Larson. 
> 
> A missing scene of sorts for _Romancing Mister Bridgerton_ , but no real spoilers with the exception of a vague reference to the identity of Lady Whistledown and I'm not sure how anyone reading Bridgerton fic would have made it this far without being spoiled for that! And no spoilers for the show, just the appearance of Madame Delacroix, since the modiste needed a name and why not Madame Delacroix? 
> 
> For show-only readers, the book!Featheringtons are comfortable, with no mention of their husband/father spending them out of house and home, and part of Portia's dowry was settled on her for her personal use. 
> 
> Also, I will forever write Colin Bridgerton with the green eyes of the books because I can.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [your3fundamentaltruths](https://your3fundamentaltruths.tumblr.com)

Her stomach drops when she sees her mother eye a tangerine silk hopefully. _Tangerine._ Good heavens.

Has her mother learned nothing? Has it not perhaps occurred to her that her on-the-shelf third daughter attracted a proposal only once she stopped accompanying her to the modiste?

Over a year ago, her mother decided that a girl with no marriage prospects was not worth the time and energy it took to offer her (terrible) fashion advice. Penelope, of course, breathed a huge sigh of relief. And was so thoroughly delighted she simply _had_ to crow about the dramatic improvement to her appearance in her column. It’s been a blissful year.

But _now_. . . Well, now the spinster daughter is to be a wife after all and not just any wife – a Bridgerton wife!

And Portia Featherington will do whatever it takes to make sure nothing gets in the way of her acquisition of a Bridgerton son-in-law now that she – er, Penelope – has him on the hook . . .

\---

Her mother calls on Lady Bridgerton the day after she gives them her blessing. Their mothers – without consulting either of their adult children, the betrothed couple – set a date a month hence for the wedding and sooner, of course, for an engagement ball. (Not that they are complaining.) There will also be a small supper two nights before their wedding for their nearest and dearest.

Fortunately for Mama, Violet Bridgerton is equally determined to get them down the aisle with all possible – that is to say, not unseemly – haste. One wouldn’t want there to be _talk_ , after all.

“I have always wanted you for my daughter, you know,” Lady Bridgerton tells her upon her first visit to Number Five after becoming engaged. She insisted that Penelope come to dinner that very night and can hardly contain her delight.

“I know,” Colin mutters darkly, but he is smiling even as he says it, eyes warm and, to be frank, rather self-satisfied.

She bursts into tears.

Colin, bless him, has a handkerchief at the ready.

But that is not nearly assurance enough for her mother.

Her mother positively scandalizes her the very next day – as soon as she returns from conferring with Lady Bridgerton – by very strongly implying that Penelope should allow herself to be compromised with all possible haste.

She only stares in horror, praying that her mother will not see in her face and her rising color that she already has been.

Well, Penelope knows as well as anyone (better, really, with everything that she’s seen over the years) that it doesn’t really count for forcing one’s hand if no one knows _and_ there are no . . . lasting consequences. That is to say, therefore, that she hasn’t been completely, irrevocably, _openly_ compromised.

“Mama!”

“Hmph,” her mother sniffs. “Don’t be so scrupulous and high-minded, Penelope! You know as well as I that Kate Sheffield would never have become Viscountess Bridgerton without getting a bit ahead of herself. Smart girl. As I’ve told you, a head start can be a very good thing, you know. Violet Bridgerton does so want more grand –”

“ _Mama!_ ” she fairly screeches before taking a very deep breath and, very slowly, reminding her mother that Colin already proposed, asked for her blessing, and shared the news with his family. They _celebrated_ with his family. “He’d never jilt me after _that_.” And there is the small matter of the engagement ball invitations presently being made out by the Bridgerton women at Number Five.

Hyacinth – via Mama – has already summoned Felicity to help, declaring it would be the height of unfairness if _she_ got a cramp in her hand while Felicity did nothing to lighten the load when it is Felicity’s sister joining her family. Typical Hyacinth.

She fully expects that in the end Hyacinth will weasel out of bulk of the work, with Eloise, Kate, Sophie, and even Daphne – duchess though she is – picking up her slack. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as Hyacinth hasn’t an especially fair hand.

“We haven’t signed the settlements yet,” her mother persists. “And he hasn’t given you a betrothal ring –”

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He sent a note asking that I be at home this afternoon. I expect it’s about the ring.”

(It _is_ about the ring, she would later learn. Her lovely, lovely engagement ring.)

Her mother’s eyes grow crafty. “What time?”

“Mama, you will not pester him –”

“On the contrary, I will be out. I will call on your sister and –”

“And leave us entirely unchaperoned? Briarly would expire from the shock of it.” Not that she would _mind_ , precisely, but still, the proprieties –

“Fine.” Her mother sighs. “Nevertheless, I would be remiss if I did not properly prepare you –”

“Prepare?” she asks weakly.

“It is time we have a little talk, my dear. I know most mothers wait until the night before the wedding for this, but I have always believed in being well-prepared, so we had best do this now –”

When it comes to her mother, resistance is futile. She sighs and sits in the seat her mother indicates and waves her hand in a silent “do get on with it” gesture, praying it will be over quickly.

It is. Small blessings. Unfortunately, that also means it is not terribly informative.

She has already gathered the basic mechanics of the act after a rather informative visit to the stables during a country house party some years ago. It was Eloise’s idea – derived from a passing remark of Colin’s, ironically enough – after Francesca’s brief confirmation upon her marriage that a Bridgerton housemaid’s detailed account of married love was “absolutely correct” did not prove a sufficiently satisfactory answer for Eloise’s insatiable curiosity. 

Her mother’s lips are pinched, but she does not avoid her eyes. “For ladies, the . . . act is not particularly comfortable or pleasant. It’s all a bit messy and distasteful, to be honest. It will hurt the first time. But it is not difficult. That is to say, it is not complicated. Your husband will know what to do. You must simply lie still beneath him and allow him his pleasures. You see, gentlemen find pleasure in the . . . act that ladies do not.” 

Nor does her mother's “little talk” seem entirely accurate. The interlude in Colin’s carriage was far more enjoyable than her mother’s description of marital relations – and than what she saw of the horses in the stables, for that matter - makes it all sound.

Frankly, when Colin touched her, she felt as if she were losing her mind – and as if she did not much care whether she ever got it back, so long as she continued feeling the way she did right then. It was a great deal better than comfortable or pleasant. Comfortable and pleasant had nothing to do with it. Colin made her feel beautiful and desirable for the first time in her life. It was wicked and splendid and _glorious_ and she enjoyed every single moment of it. What was that if not pleasure?

Of course, they hadn’t reached the natural conclusion of such activity, but she does find it difficult to believe that it would all have become so . . . _un_ pleasant if they had.

“So you must not bar your husband from your bed if you do not wish him to stray. And you _do not_ wish him to stray, if you can help it. I assure you that it does get easier. It helps to keep one’s mind occupied and to remember that there is a point to it.” When she merely gives her mother a quizzical look, her mother rolls her eyes and groans. “Babies, Penelope, _babies_!” 

Ah, yes, babies. _Colin’s_ babies. Hers and Colin’s. What a lovely notion. She hopes their children have his eyes. He has such beautiful eyes, she thinks dreamily.

Those devastating green eyes of his have haunted her dreams for years and it is still hard to believe that very soon they will be the first thing she sees upon waking every morning, the last thing she sees before closing her own for the night. That she will see those eyes many times a day as she and Colin sit across from one another at meals or together in the drawing room at tea or on the carriage bench when they travel, when they go for a walk, when they ride, when they just sit and talk and do all the little things that constitute a life together, every day as long as they both shall live. 

“Good heavens, you foolish girl,” her mother scolds, breaking into her happy musings and bringing her back down to earth. “How on _earth_ did you manage to convince _Colin Bridgerton_ of all people to marry you?”

The question is not a rhetorical one and it should sting, but it doesn’t. It’s remarkable what a difference even a few days make. She is merely annoyed at her mother’s impatience.

Really, Mama ought to have just a _bit_ of patience with her and let her float along on the cloud of her own bliss for a little while. A woman can hardly be expected to spend her entire adult life in love with one man and then not be almost stupid with happiness after he asks her to marry him.

After their rather useless little talk – well, it is a miracle her mother doesn’t offer to throw her entire personal fortune on top of the dowry to make sure Colin actually goes through with the wedding. Mama’s other, lesser-favored sons-in-law certainly possess ample enough funds to keep her in comfort all her days even if she did.

Uncharacteristically, her mother moderates the impulse, takes the half-measure of asking if she ought to increase her dowry.

She is about to say no, but then decides against it. It wouldn’t be the worst thing for some of the money she’s given her unknowing mother via “Aunt Georgette’s” fortune to be returned to her on her marriage. Heaven knows that whatever her mother might bequeath to anyone certainly won’t come her way.

It turns out to be for the best, in the end – they will have more money _and_ the offer results in Colin getting on his high horse and defending her again.

He is _mortally_ affronted that her mother is trying to sweeten the deal.

Of course, he is a practical enough man not to object to a larger dowry, in itself, out of hand. It is the fact that her mother thinks it necessary that rankles him.

In all the years she’s known him, it is only the second time (the first being the afternoon he proposed – well, not really _proposed_ , so much as demanded that she marry him) that she thinks he might rival his brother Anthony in . . . well, she isn’t quite sure what to call it.

Whatever it is, it is magnificent.

And it stuns her mother into abjectly apologetic silence for a full minute afterwards.

She knows she ought to feel guilty for enjoying her fiancé’s uncharacteristic fits of temper so much. She knows she certainly wouldn’t like it if they _were_ characteristic and she didn’t like it at all when one was directed at her. But when the target of his anger is the mother who’s never loved her quite so well as her sisters? She would have to be a saint not to enjoy it at least a little when the man she’s been in desperate unrequited love with for a dozen years lectures her mother about how wonderful she is twice in the same week.

(And she is no saint.)

\---

They are comforting memories amidst this first of several (sure to be highly unpleasant) visits to the modiste necessitated by her impending nuptials.

Lady Bridgerton shakes her head ever-so-slightly and raises her eyes heavenward for the briefest of moments before squaring her shoulders and smiling that wide, wide, and more-than-a-bit-managing smile Penelope is so used to seeing on Eloise when she sees what Mama is considering for their pre-wedding supper.

“Oh, Portia, that’s a very, very . . . happy color,” Lady Bridgerton manages unconvincingly – although, in a testament to her extraordinary tact, she is still far more convincing than most would be. “But I’m afraid it simply won’t work.”

Oh, bless Lady Bridgerton for not making _her_ say it. She is surely gaining the most marvelous mother-in-law ever to walk the earth.

“Why not?”

“The gown must be green, of course.”

A capital idea.

“Green? Of course?” Mama echoes, looking vexed. She thinks green is melancholy, after all.

Lady Bridgerton gasps affectedly. “Oh no, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Mama immediately looks curious. “Why not?”

“I couldn’t say –”

“Of course you can.”

“Oh, I would,” Lady Bridgerton says, putting a hand on her heart. “Indeed, I would, as it’s really quite sweet, but I couldn’t. Colin would be _so_ cross with me it if he knew I had said anything.”

“Violet, you simply must tell me,” Mama insists eagerly, looking deathly curious.

“It’s only that –” Lady Bridgerton breaks herself off, quite on purpose, Penelope is sure. “Well, I know it would please him greatly if Penelope wore green,” she finally finishes in a just-between-us-ladies sort of way. “I would go so far as to say he’d be disappointed by anything else.”

A bald-faced lie. She is as shocked as she is impressed. They both know Colin wouldn’t care in the slightest, so long as _she_ liked it. The only thing that would displease him is her wearing something that made her unhappy.

(That is to say, a dress chosen by her mother.)

Then again . . . he complimented her on her green silk dress at Lady Bridgerton’s birthday party, the first time she’d seen him since his return from Cyprus. The day he called on her, the first time he’d kissed her? Green muslin. The day he proposed? A mint green morning dress.

While it is surely nothing more than a coincidence and she very sincerely doubts that he would’ve said anything to his mother on the subject of her wardrobe, it’s an intriguing thought nevertheless.

Her mother’s eyes go very wide.

“You see,” Lady Bridgerton confides in a whisper louder than her usual voice, “he told me quite emphatically that Penelope looks especially lovely in green. Now that I think about it,” she says thoughtfully, “I am sure that is why he selected an emerald for her engagement ring. And,” she adds with a delicate shrug, “green is his favorite, you know. It is a bit vain of him, of course, but we all have our flaws.”

She presses her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle, the aforementioned engagement ring – a near-flawless match to the perfect green of Colin’s eyes – catching the light as she does so, “Vain or no, surely, I must oblige my betrothed, mustn’t I, Mama?”

Her mother nods frantically, looking mildly panicked now. “Yes, yes, of course, whatever he wants. As you say, Violet, it will be lovely, I’m sure.”

When her mother’s back is turned, Lady Bridgerton simply winks at her. Winks! “Bit of dust in my eye,” she says with a crooked grin remarkably like her son’s before turning back to Mama. “Oh, Portia,” she trills, “do come have a look at this sage silk. I am _certain_ Colin would _adore_ it –”

\---

After Lady Bridgerton successfully urges Mama away from orange and yellow for the dresses, Mama suggests yellow French silk for her lingerie.

She has a rather depressing yet darkly amusing vision of Colin bursting into laughter at the sight of her in a yellow negligee on their wedding night – not out of any sort of cruelty (or lack of interest in getting her out of it, she thinks to herself with some satisfaction), but simply because it’s so obvious that she _hates_ yellow and he’d know how disgruntled she was about wearing it in the first place.

The second-most satisfying part of her musings is Colin tossing the blasted thing into the nearest fire just as soon as he has her out of it.

The most satisfying part makes her face flame so bright that Madame Delacroix asks if she is overheated, though the modiste has such a knowing look in her eyes that Penelope only blushes harder.

Lady Bridgerton does not even deign to acknowledge Mama’s suggestion and steers them firmly to the creams and greens and blues. She briefly ponders a lovely violet before sighing and reminding herself aloud that purple is a mourning color, though Penelope privately thinks it probably doesn’t count in a negligee. 

Really, it isn't so bad as Kate had feared.

\---

Kate warns her that the selection of lingerie will be the most mortifying part of her wedding preparations, as there is something rather discomfiting in having one’s betrothed’s mother selecting one’s wedding night attire. Lady Bridgerton, though a truly wonderful mother-in-law in every way, is most opinionated, Kate says carefully, and will not hesitate to involve herself in every detail of every choice.

But she surprises Kate by laughing in response and saying, “at least she has good taste,” to which Kate very tactfully says nothing, only nods and grins, silently conceding the point, before wishing her luck in the endeavor.

\--

“Your son has very strong opinions on his fiancée’s wardrobe,” Madame Delacroix says mildly to Lady Bridgerton, with the faintest twitch to her lips, when Mama finally excuses herself to use the chamber pot after hours of Lady Bridgerton invoking Colin’s name every time she shoots down one of Mama’s poorer ideas. And thank goodness for that – she’s not sure her mother would otherwise have given in on the green for the supper or the ice blue for the engagement ball, for that matter.

_And_ they may not even need to make _quite_ so many visits to the modiste, what with Lady Bridgerton’s rather terrifying efficiency and indefatigable energy.

“Well,” Lady Bridgerton begins blandly. “While I am quite certain he particularly likes her in green, she could say her vows in sackcloth and wear white muslin ever after and he’d not mind as long as she was happy.” She pats Penelope’s arm warmly. “It’s only that any sensible person knows she would look decidedly _un_ happy in tangerine –”

“That’s true,” Penelope mutters out of the side of her mouth. “I have done.”

“Ah, yes,” Madame Delacroix says with a sigh. “I do apologize, Miss Featherington. I did try to –”

“It was not your fault,” Penelope assures her.

“– Or yellow French silk,” Lady Bridgerton finishes, shuddering. “ _Yellow French silk._ ”

She is half-tempted to tease and ask whether Lady Bridgerton would approve if the yellow silk were Spanish.

“With her coloring. Good heavens. Oh, you poor dear,” Lady Bridgerton says with great feeling. “But I am here now. All will be well.”

It will be, won’t it? What a lovely notion. She squeezes Lady Bridgerton’s hand in silent gratitude.

Lady Bridgerton favors her with another wide smile, her disgust at the yellow French silk entirely forgotten. “I am so very pleased, you know.”

She beams at her. “I am so happy you are.”

Lady Bridgerton sniffles, just a bit, before nodding briskly and turning her attention back to the nightclothes while one of the shopgirls distracts Mama with tea and biscuits. “She will most certainly need this one in green,” she tells Madame Delacroix firmly after finding a particularly pleasing cut. “Several of this style,” Lady Bridgerton continues, nodding to herself. “In mint and emerald and forest, at a minimum –”

“And sage,” she interjects. It is her favorite, after all.

Lady Bridgerton nods again, approvingly. “Yes, of course. And blues. A nice blue would look marvelous with her hair, don’t you think?” she asks Madame Delacroix absently. “Trimmed with that lovely lace, naturally –”

Sage French silk trimmed with Belgian lace. It _will_ be lovely. And Colin will surely like it, she thinks dreamily, even as she blushes.

Nearly as much as he will enjoy getting her out of it.

Though not nearly as much as they’ll both enjoy what happens once he does.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t help but notice Portia gave Penelope the “little talk” sometime before the engagement ball in _Romancing Mister Bridgerton_ , which piqued my curiosity :P
> 
> When I first wrote this months ago, I had Penelope in a green dress for her wedding, as white would not have been typical at the time, but decided to take a cue from the show on that one and change it to a dress for other wedding festivities.


End file.
